


friends being for

by lalaietha



Category: Snow White and the Huntsman (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/lalaietha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably because Eric <i>remembers</i> being eighteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	friends being for

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic/gifts).



It's not that Eric dislikes the man, but there are times when he thinks Hammond's being a bit of a fool - as well as times he thinks the man's gone beyond foolishness and has his head firmly stuck up a duck's arse. And it's remarkable how many time the latter end up having to do with William. 

It might help that Eric remembers when he himself was eighteen. Granted, he remembers it almost as if it happened to another person, like he'd been some kind of muted witness to someone else's life looking out through their eyes. But he does remember it - remembers feeling immortal and like the world rested on his shoulders, knowing with his head that neither was true but feeling it anyway like he was a horse and those feelings were the spurs driving him onward to do things that were courageous, terminally stupid, or both at the same time. 

Hammond might not remember it, because the world had been a different place when the duke'd reached that age: Magnus' father still on the throne, Tabor at peace for years, the training of a duke's son or a royal prince having more to do with the tourney and the negotiating table than they did with breaking heads and leading charges. He came to war as a man, and an unhappy one at that. 

Whatever it is, it leaves him with little sympathy for his son. 

Granted that William _is_ bloody reckless and impulsive - Eric won't argue that. He's had to rein the lad in a few times himself with one word or another. But in desperate times recklessness can be what you need, and impulsiveness is something you grow out of, and Snow White herself has all the caution you could ever want in a queen - and William would never cross her word. 

For that matter, he doesn't cross Eric's often. Maybe that's another part of it.

*****

Most of the castle had heard the fight, because neither father nor son seemed to remember that stone walls gave you bloody beautiful echoes. Its cause had been nothing that warranted that amount of yelling: on his way back from an errand Snow White had sent him on, William'd got word of a nest of bandits and taken his men on a side-trip to root them out.

Well and good, as far as Eric's concerned. Tabor's lousy with bandits, and they need to be dealt with. He's not even sure their queen entirely registered the news, neck deep as she is in trying to ensure that the kingdom won't starve through this coming winter. But the duke - well, the duke had taken exception to the fact that his son had done this on his own, without taking any council with those at the castle at all. 

William had reasonably (if not at all in a reasonable tone, by that time) pointed out that if he'd done so, the bastards would have been gone by the time he got back; Eric knows he'd pointed this out because he'd done it at the top of his voice. It had only gone downhill from there, ending with William storming out, mounting up and heading for the village rather than staying at the castle. 

Eric had been busy with his own tasks, or he might have followed the lad then. At this point it's past sundown and he hasn't seen hide nor hair of William or his horse, so he has one of the stable-boys throw a pad on his roan and sets out after him.

****

The village may have had another name before, but now they call it Queen's-Cross and seem to be proud of it. It's cleaner and dryer these days than it ever was when Eric drowned his sorrows here, and the publican's a different man entirely: smaller, stocky, with a darker colour to his skin but more inclined to laugh and to wash out his mugs occasionally, as well as less inclined to try to sell drink that'll blind his customers. And if the girls who work there are still up for negotiating a night's affection, it's their own lookout, and the publican doesn't procure.

Most of that's because apparently the previous man headed for the hills once the news of Eric's getting a royal appointment came down from the castle. When that news had come back up, William giving Eric an amused look, Eric had replied blandly that he couldn't imagine why that would be. 

The new man - a Thomas something-or-other - renamed the pub the Queen's Arms, too. And as it happens is actually ducking in and out of the doorway and seems extremely pleased to see Eric when Eric approaches. 

"I'm going to guess he's inside, then," Eric says as he dismounts and ties up his horse, not planning to stay long. He doesn't have to say who, exactly. The publican bobs a nervous half-bow. 

"Milord William is here, yes, your lordship," he says, his voice relieved. He gestures to the noisy air inside and says, "As y'can see I've a busy house tonight and nobody I could spare to send up, but, well - milord shouldn't really have anything else to drink, but I wouldn't want to bundle him onto his horse in this condition, who knows where he'd fall off, or break his neck?" 

Eric nods. Thomas generally shows concern for his customers; as he'd remarked to Eric once, it meant they were more likely to come back and be his customers again. "Thank you, Thom," he says and the publican gives another half-bow. 

"No trouble," he says, and then asks, "if y'don't mind me saying, milord seems in a poor temper - is there some trouble up aways?" meaning the castle. Eric half-smiles and clasps the man's shoulder. 

"Nothing to concern you, Thom," he says, and then pushes the door open into the wide, warm common room. "Have someone bring his horse out." 

William's sitting in a corner, staring at a mug in front of him, and despite Thomas' words, he looks more worried and strained than angry. His gaze is also drunkenly unfocused as he looks up at Eric after Eric crosses to him, a look Eric knows he himself has worn many a time. 

Not recently. And in point of fact, the smell in here turns his stomach a bit. But it'd make the villagers nervous if the Queen's Childhood Companion (never mind a duke's son) passed out in the road down here: too long living under a different queen, for whom annoyance meant somebody's death. If Snow White were to get annoyed at anyone for this, it'd be William - and she's far more likely to just be worried - but Eric knows well enough that it's hard for ordinary men and women to believe that, or at least to entirely trust it. 

"If I get up," William says in a warning sort of voice, "I'm going to be sick." Eric pats him on the shoulder. 

"Just keep it in till y'get outside the door," he says, "so Master Thomas can sluice it away with some water. Up y'get, William."

"I can't. Either my head's spinning around in circles or the pub is," William complains and Eric has to work hard not to laugh. 

"Have I mentioned lately you're still bloody terrible at drinking?" he says, using William's upper arm to pull the lad to his feet and to direct his extremely wobbly feet towards the door with a gesture to Thomas. He knows William'll have paid for his drinks before he took them, and indeed, Thomas waves them gratefully away. 

"Yes," William says and then is, in fact, sick outside the door. Leaning his hands on his knees he adds, "But it always seems like such a good idea at the time." He turns his head and adds, "On the bright side, I'm not angry anymore. I feel far too terrible to be angry." 

"There's a relief," Eric replies, dryly. "Go duck your head in the horse-trough," he adds, waving to it. "You need t'stay on your damn horse, and if I have to walk beside you to keep you from falling off, I'll find someway of making you regret it." Which is a complete lie, they both know, but he says it anyway. 

"Trust me," William says, standing up and leaning one hand on the outside wall of the pub, "there isn't a thing you could possibly do that'll make me sorrier than the headache I'm going to have tomorrow." 

"I could leave y'where y'fall on the side of the road," Eric replies, as William totters over and leans on Eric's shoulder to steady himself. "Then you'll wake up with a sore head and a sore back, believe me. Don't do that," he says, as William closes his eyes. "It'll only make the world spin worse." 

It takes a bit of effort and another pause to be sick before William's on his horse and looking resigned instead of green. "Right," he says, with some shade of determination. "Let's go home before I do fall off."


End file.
